“Please be safe,” she said. “I can’t have anything happen to you.”
A sharp pain erupted behind Zofia’s chest as she studied Laila’s face. There was something about its arrangement that made her feel as if she were looking at Hela. It was not something physical. Their eyes were different shades. Hela’s a smoky gray to Laila’s dark chocolate. Their skin color was different too. Hela’s the color of marble and Laila’s the color of tree bark after a rainstorm. Maybe it was the effect they had on the world around them. The way they somehow made it safe.
“I’ll be safe,” said Zofia.
And then, she turned and followed Enrique and Eva out of the library. As she made her way to the ice grotto, Zofia watched the light play over the icy, vaulted ceiling and crystalline carvings of leaping rabbits and foxes beneath the balconies. Her parents had always told her to be a light, but the light she found brightest belonged in others. Some people were so bright that they shut out the dark of fear. After they lost their parents, Hela’s presence drowned out the shadows. In Paris, Laila and Tristan, Séverin and Enrique—even Hypnos—had done the same. But losing Tristan let the shadows back in, and as the three of them passed beneath a darkened arch, Zofia feared that if she lost Laila and Hela, she might never find her way out of the dark.
IN THE ATRIUM,Zofia noticed how the ice menagerie had been emptied. Now, motionless crystal figurines of bears and swans, sleek leopards, and huge hawks covered the translucent floor of the Sleeping Palace, scattered throughout its rooms and halls. It was discomfiting merely to stare at the still statues, but Zofia had no choice. Enrique had forgotten his notebook in the library, and made them promise to wait.
“And don’t just say ‘promise,’ Zofia.”
Zofia crossed her arms.
“They’re repurposing the ice animals,” explained Eva. “They can’t attack if their Forging mechanism changes.”
Zofia watched as one of the artisans hauled out an ice stag with a snapped foreleg. One of them drew out an unlit torch, then raised a match toward it. She knew it was an ice stag, but for some reason,all she could see was the slain and forgotten girls on the slabs of ice, Hela’s persistent coughing despite all the medicine procured, Laila’s garnet ring and the ever-diminishing numbers within the jewel. All of it converged into some nameless fear that made her shout out, “Stop!”
The artisan looked up, first at her and then at Eva.
“Don’t… don’t destroy it.”
“It’s a broken machine, miss,” said the artisan.
“I know, but—”
But it was hardly the machine’s fault that it could not function in this world. That something about it was less desirable. That things had happened to it that it could not control. It did not have to be destroyed.
Eva stepped in front of her. “Have it put in the jail cell, then. Out of the way.”
The artisan shot her a look of disbelief, but Eva narrowed her eyes.
“Do it.”
The artisan nodded, hauling the stag elsewhere. Zofia’s pulse slowly eased to its normal rate.
“Thank you,” said Zofia.
Eva nodded brusquely, her hand going to the silver pendant around her neck. The other girl’s face wore a pattern of hesitation—pressed brows, shifting pupils. Finally, she looked up at Zofia and smiled wide.
“We don’t really know each other very well, do we?” asked Eva, shaking her head. She did not wait for Zofia to respond. “For instance, do you like the ballet?”
“I don’t know,” said Zofia. “I’ve never been.”
“Probably for the best,” said Eva. She tucked a strand of redhair behind her ear. “I stopped going years ago too. It’s no good to be tempted by something one can’t be.”
“You wanted to be a ballerina?”
Eva’s mouth tightened to a flat line. “Once.”
To Zofia, Eva already looked like a ballerina. She was tall and slender, and though her gait dragged, she was no less graceful.
“I’m sorry,” said Zofia.
She had no reason to be. It wasn’t as though she had done something, but she figured it was the kind of response Laila would use.
“I am too,” said Eva. Abruptly, she let go of the pendant she held. “Do you dance, Zofia?”
“No.”
