Chapter 12
TWELVE
A keepsake to remember me.
Istirred awake, cold as ice and breathless from another too-vivid nightmare, and went restlessly to make tea.
Dawnlight brushed golden sparks over the endless snow, souring my mood. Sunshine was of no use to me. The thaw was coming. I could feel it.
At the edge of the forest, behind the pair of old apple trees at the back of Lorell’s garden, something stirred beneath a tall spruce. The hounds—
I caught a glimpse of copper-red fur and a tuft of white. It was not a proud beast like my nightly companion, but a small, spindly thing that scurried nervously about.
The poor thing was much too thin. How cold it must be. It had not eaten in days and ventured this close to the house only because it was famished. Out there in the forest it would starve and it would be my fault—
Ice pricked my bare feet.
I stood at the front door in the snow, fist filled with the berry preserves Lorell had cooked for breakfast. Their juice welled between my fingers, trickling down to stain the snow at my feet blood-red.
I need not have worried about the thaw; it was bitterly cold. I could barely breathe from the ice in the air. I stared in awe at my berry-stained hand. I did not remember opening the jar, nor that I’d hurried barefooted out into the winter morning.
I returned to the parlor to gather my boots and a coat.
As I passed the corner window, the fox had vanished.
I stood there for a long time, waiting, certain that hunger would lure it back to me.
Nothing stirred amid the trees save a gentle breeze, sweeping wisps of snow deeper into the forest—past brambles and over a hillcrest, where a frozen pond lay amid dancing reeds…
The creak of the front door snapped me from my daze.
Adrik brought with him a blast of cold. I shivered as he brushed the snow from his hair and pressed a glass of tea into his hand.
He took a sip and frowned. “You made my favorite tea.”
That I had, indeed, and I’d spent an hour keeping it at what I knew was his preferred temperature—I deeply regretted this now, for his face shone with such soft surprise that I could barely stand to look at him.
“So?” I said as haughtily as I could. “You’ve made me tea a hundred times.”
He laughed a little wearily. The sun cast deep shadows under his cheekbones. Over his gaze hung a sheen of exhaustion, as if he’d stepped from a dream, still half-asleep.
“You look tired.”
“I see you are well-versed in the art of flattery," he said with a sleepy smile.
“You have a new scratch, too,” I said, glancing sharply at his hand. “Did another ice sheet get you?”
He slumped with a deep sigh against the doorframe. “It was an axe, this time. Olva needed the brambles cleared.”
“I thought you were an exceptionally talented swordsman. An axe cannot be too different, no?” He did not answer, but his lips quivered as he studied me. “Perhaps if you slept rather than cut brambles in the night, you’d be rested enough to wield an axe without spilling your own blood.”
“Perhaps,” he said, half-amused and half-asleep. “Now, not that I mind your keen attention, but if you are quite done with your assessment, I’ve come with a proposal.” He presented me with the thickest, finest coat I’d ever seen. “Almira says you are well enough for a walk.”
Noon had come and gone before we ventured into the cold. The air felt like glass; sharp and icy, as if it might shatter if disturbed beyond a whisper.
Adrik braced me as we shuffled along a winding path through the garden, to the steps that trailed down the hillside into the bustling street. The stones were slick and my muscles still terribly feeble.
Over the trees and the fields hung sunlit mist, curling alongside the sparkling river past homes and shops before it drifted off into the forest. The houses huddled wall to wall as if to keep each other warm.
Merchants drove pelt-draped sleds through the web of cobbled streets to restock their stalls in the square.
Mount Briarfell loomed like a guardian over the town, and on the cliff in its shade sat the castle, as if a child had planted a small figurine amid the snow.
“Is this Almira’s doing?” I asked with a wary glance at the fields.
Amid the snow swayed golden wheat and bright-green stalks.
I felt nauseous at the sight. I’d not expected to find so much life amid this winter.
The monster within me stirred, a sleeping beast opening a curious eye. I pinched the knotted scar.
Adrik said grimly, “Indeed. The people of Wildemire are very spoiled.”
I hesitated for a moment at the topmost step, heart lurching as I looked out over the glistening town. Life waited down there, and it was a life not meant for me. I was cold and callous. I did not belong amid such merriment. In the dark corners of me lived a vileness—
Adrik pulled me firmly along, tearing the thought from me.
We’d scarcely stepped into the throng of people before a riptide caught us; of greetings and cheers, bows and handshakes, of cries from the window thanking Adrik for one or the other favor.
If Lorell and I had been cautious not to kindle Adrik’s arrogance, a quick stroll through the street was enough to undo our efforts.
The townsfolk considered him nothing short of a hero.
“How you get anything done is beyond me,” I whispered after Adrik had graciously declined the seventh offer for tea and cake. He only gave me a secret smile before we were ambushed again.
“You must stay until the snow melts!” cried a woman with pink cheeks and a trembling puppy in her arms. “It will be a feast!”
A young man with stern spectacles and a mane of black curls shook Adrik’s hand and announced, “I just saw the first crocus down by the river!”
Truly, the street hummed with the sort of mirth only the approach of spring could inspire—the air felt at once warmer, and as Adrik led me to the riverbank, dread snuck up on me. Perhaps this winter was coming to an end after all.
I need not have worried. The riverbed wore a hip-deep blanket of snow and the only speck of green was that of Adrik’s eyes. The river rippled leisurely past as he led us to a small cove by the old mill wheel.
“This is where the lovers washed ashore.”
Adrik collected a pebble from the riverbank where the water had eaten a narrow strip into the snow. The air stirred with a breeze of brine and a soft laugh.
“May I tell you a tale?” he asked with great mischief.
“One mild summer eve—seven summers had passed since their arrival, and the wildflower meadow had long since blossomed into a bustling town—the lovers took a stroll along the river. It was midsummer. Fireflies lit their path and the peach trees bent under the weight of fruit. That eve, the starlit river had lured them from their home and here, where their lives had begun anew all these seasons ago, they stood for a moment, holding their breath. The boy found himself so enchanted, he did not notice the girl had slipped away. Only when she laughed did he look up. She was bathing in the moonlit river. The water cascaded over her skin like liquid silver—”
I made an undignified sound, something between a gasp and a snort. There was no longer a trace of cold in the air.
Adrik’s eyes glittered with delight. “Ah, no need to look so flustered, Evana,” he said, voice low with amusement.
“I am not quite so wicked to linger in such moments any longer than this—not uninvited, at least.” Oh, how I longed to push him into the river—or to plunge into its frigid waves just to escape that knowing grin.
He reached gently for my hand and opened my palm to place the pebble inside.
“Here,” he said with sudden earnestness.
“A keepsake to remember me when you leave.”
It was still warm from his touch, smoothed by centuries of waves drifting past. I slid it with a tight throat into the pocket of my coat. I feared I would not find it difficult to remember him—it was forgetting him that might give me trouble.
If I secured the bargain… If he purged this magic from me…
Was there not a kernel of hope that I could stay?
I thought of the court amid rock and waves, of the queen and the prince of bargains.
If I secured the bargain, he would loathe me.
It seemed imprudent to linger in a town where I’d made enemies with a faerie.
The wind stiffened, chasing us back up the slope and through the doors of the bakery.
Inside, beneath glittering chandeliers, sprawled shelves laden with porcelain plates, piled high with chocolate pastries and sugar biscuits, and cake stands with summer-fruit tartlets.
It smelled of cinnamon and sugar and butter.
From the back room came the crackle of a giant stove and the hum of a low, lively voice.
I flinched when a shadow stirred behind a shelf. Distracted by the glitter and glamor, I had not noticed we were not alone in the shop.
“Adrik,” said the man with a curt nod. He was not much older than I, almost as tall as Adrik, broad-shouldered. His hair was black as the night, his smile was warm, and he clutched a leather-wrapped notebook tightly to his chest. “Evana,” he said, offering me a grime-stained hand. “I’m Yavor.”
I blushed horribly. The whole town seemed familiar with my name. Had they talked of the strange girl who had come half-dead from the wastes? Had they whispered of her vileness and her bitterness and her madness—
A brush of warmth against my fingers, so quickly and softly, I deemed it the kiss of the breeze. Another brush over the fluttering pulse of my wrist. I gasped quietly. My skin remembered the silken feel of Adrik’s and it tingled in the wake of his touch. I came sharply back to myself.
“... and he must have gone early for bread or to the farms,” Yavor was saying with a suffering sigh. “He was supposed to come back to work on the locks, but you know Pa. Bet he stopped by Olva and forgot the time. Took our best hammer with him too.”
“We will keep an eye out for him,” Adrik promised.
The baker, Sai, came at that moment from the back.
Age had carved deep wrinkles into the corners of his mouth and painted white streaks into his ringlets, but there was no trace of it in his broad, strong frame.
A dusting of flour clung to his dark brown skin.
He greeted us with great cheer and a laugh that brought the bread shelves to a shudder.
“Before we dive into introductions,” Sai said to me, a twinkle in his gaze, “let me ask you the most important question. Which is your favorite sort of tartlet?” I had not eaten many tartlets in my life, so I blushed fiercely and wrung my hands.
“A blank slate, then,” said Sai cheerily. “We will find something you love.”
While he loaded a basket with lemon tarts, glazed peach pies, and pastries stuffed with cream and jam, Sai told me the tale of how he came to Wildemire.
“For three long decades, I traveled the land as a mercenary. I grew tired of bloodshed, but I knew nothing else to do with these hands. Came across a foundling in a burning village ransacked by faeries. Big brown eyes, snow-white hair. A mage, that one. Had saved herself with her fire. I took her in, and the wind carried us here. I remembered I had a knack for baking as a child.” With a loving glance at his cakes, he said, “Baking…
don't reckon I'll ever grow tired of that.” He set a richly decorated chocolate tartlet on top of the basket.
“For Lorell,” he said a little gruffly. “He likes the chocolate ones best.”
Adrik and I returned to Lorell’s house with enough cake to last us a week.
I paused for breath at the foot of the stone steps.
The house, much taller than it was broad, wore a round, bright-red roof dotted with tufts of snow.
It looked from down here as if a giant toadstool had sprouted from the hill.
A breath of wind swept through the street, pelting me with a swirl of snow.
Let me see you. Let me taste you.
My blood turned cold. A painful prickle crept down my spine.
I glanced over my shoulder, expecting a bone-white glare, a grotesquely wounded creature.
There was nothing save a few red-cheeked children, huddled against a near door to weather the wind.
Adrik had gone ahead. He stood rigidly at the top of the stairs, staring where the sun hung low over the forest. The flares on the hills had died.
I climbed the steps, heart pounding from pain, from bracing myself against the furious wind.
Swirls of ice lashed me as I stood beside him.
“Go inside,” he shouted over the storm.
From the mountain came a crack and from the heart of the town a deafening clang. Then, so abruptly I swayed where I stood, the storm died.
Silence gripped the world by its throat.
We stood, all of us, in complete stillness—even the river.
A sheet of blue ice lay over it, trapping riverwaves mid-rise. The result was something beautifully grotesque; a wild ravel of frozen spires and spikes, iridescent in the fleeting sunlight.
“Spring will come soon,” said Adrik, but even his good humor could not conceal the tremble in his voice.
He set wordlessly off to relight the flares.