“Why didn’t you recognize her?”
“The night you came to Edgewood, I promised I wouldn’t leave her. But I broke that promise when I gave her a sleeping draught, took her place without her knowledge. She was angry with me. She said…”
No. I cannot, will not, say it. Not in front of him.
“What did she say?” he asks gently.
I feel my will crumbling. And I wonder if it would be so terrible if I stopped trying to patch the holes. If I let the pieces fall. If I am brave enough for that.
“She was cruel.” Barbs meant to wound, and they did. “She said my actions were selfish.”
“And that hurt you,” he says, as if he understands, but how could he possibly understand when he does not know me?
And hurt? It is too shallow an emotion. I am distraught. Aggrieved. She did not inquire after my wellbeing, as if it mattered not. She did not assess whether I was harmed, mind or body or soul. I reached for my twin with arms wide open, and she treated me as an interloper, a stranger.
I reach absentmindedly for another flower. “All my life I have cared for Elora, even when we were children. I provided her food, clothes, warmth, a home.”
When the Frost King speaks, his voice is soft, reminiscent of the burbling creek. “I do not think what you did was selfish. Rather, I believe it was selfless.”
My gaze cuts to his in surprise. His expression lacks the indifference I’ve come to expect, but it is definitely guarded.
“Thank you,” I say stiffly, and I mean it.
He glances away. “People do not always say what they mean. It is possible your sister misses your presence.”
As possible as it is for a tree to birth a pig. Elora’s sentiment toward me was plain. “I’m certain she does not. She said more. The selfish comment wasn’t even the worst of it.”
“You don’t have to continue. Not if it will cause you pain.”
He sounds oddly kind. Of course, that is exactly why I don’t believe him. “We may not like one another,” I say tartly, “but you don’t have to be cruel about it. There’s no need to pretend that you care.” I’d prefer the Frost King’s callous nature instead of this fabricated compassion.
His eyebrows creep slowly upward. “You think I lie?”
I did. Now I am unsure.
“Why would I seek to hurt you?”
Because that is what he has been doing—unintentionally or otherwise—my entire life? What is it he wants to know? Weaknesses to exploit? Mistrust is my only armor.
One step brings him closer. The vines stir at my back, and I gasp at the sensation of one trailing down my spine in a teasing touch, curling lightly around my wrist like a bracelet. I look down. It’s covered in tiny white flowers with pale, sunny centers.
“How are you doing this? I thought only Zephyrus could control plants.”
“You are correct. I am merely bending the air around the vine.” His eyelids sink low, slitting the blue gaze beneath. “You have not answered my question.”
Because I fear what doors that answer may unlock. “Elora’s life is full,” I whisper, pained. “She doesn’t need me anymore.” And I do not know who I am if I’m not caring for her. If I’m not needed, am I obsolete? If I’m not needed, what reason has she, or anyone for that matter, to choose me?
The Frost King considers this, head tilted. It’s a relief to find no judgment in his gaze. “How do you know she doesn’t need you?”
He reaches toward me, and I stiffen, thinking he might do something rash like touch my face. But his hand passes over my shoulder, and when it retreats, a blue flower is all but swallowed by his fingers.
“How do you know she doesn’t need you?” he presses, voice deepening.
My skin tingles from his proximity. It’s the chill he carries with him, I tell myself. Nothing more. “Because she didn’t tell me.”
“Just because a person does not say it aloud,” says the king, “does not mean they don’t need you.”
Does he speak of my sister, or of someone else?
