Briar stood frozen for a moment, her mind racing through possibilities that all led nowhere. The windows were sealed, the door locked, the collar ensuring she couldn't even properly rage against her imprisonment. She moved toward the fireplace, needing its warmth, when she heard it—the faintest sound, like rain on glass.
She turned toward the wash basin and gasped.
Frederick floated in the water, but barely. His usually translucent body had gone nearly opaque, a sickly white color that reminded her of frozen milk. The delicate gill-fronds that normally waved gracefully were stiff, crystallized at the edges. His tiny form listed to one side, the bubble he usually maintained completely absent.
"Frederick!" She ran to the basin, plunging her hands into water that felt far too cold. His body was like ice against her palms as she scooped him up. "No, no, no—"
She rushed to the fireplace, water dripping through her fingers. The copper tub was too far, but there—a ceramic bowl on the side table. She grabbed it, setting it on the hearthstone closest to the flames. The water from the basin was barely enough to cover him when she poured it in, his tiny form settling at the bottom, unmoving.
"Please," she whispered, adding more water from the pitcher by her bedside. It wasn't enough—barely two inches, and Frederick lay at the bottom like a piece of clouded glass. She grabbed the water from the washing pitcher, not caring that it was scented with lavender, and added it until he was properly submerged. "You followed me all this way. You can't—"
Nothing. No movement, no response. The crystallized edges of his gill-fronds were spreading, the ice claiming more of his translucent body with each second. She could see it happening—watch him dying—and her hands shook as she positioned the bowl on the hearthstone.
Too close to the flame and she'd boil him. Too far and he'd finish freezing. She adjusted it twice, three times, finally settling on a spot where the heat radiated gently.
"Frederick, please." Her voice cracked. She touched the water with one finger, and his body was so cold it hurt. Nothing like the cool silk sensation she knew. This was the cold of death, of things that would never move again.
The opacity wasn't fading. If anything, it seemed to be spreading, his entire form going that horrible milk-white color. She watched, counting heartbeats, counting breaths, waiting for something, anything.
Twenty heartbeats. Fifty. A hundred.
Nothing.
"No." The word came out as a sob. She pressed both hands against the bowl, as if she could will her own warmth into the water. "You're all I have left. You can't leave me here alone. Please, Frederick, please—"
The collar sensed her desperation, her rage at the unfairness of it, and began to drain. But she didn't care. Let it take everything if Frederick was gone. This tiny sprite who'd chosen to follow her through horror after horror, who'd attacked Malus to protect her, who'd tried to save her from the harpies despite being so small against their size.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears falling into the bowl, rippling the surface. "I'm so sorry I brought you here. You should have stayed in the fountains where it was safe, where it was warm. This is my fault, all of it is my fault—"
Was that movement, or just the water settling?
She leaned closer, barely breathing. There, the tiniest shift in one gill-frond. So small she might have imagined it.
"Frederick?"
Another twitch, barely visible. Then the opacity at the edges began to recede,not quickly, not dramatically, but present. Definite. The ice was releasing him so slowly she had to stare to be certain it was happening at all.
She didn't move, didn't breathe too hard, terrified that any disturbance might stop this fragile revival. The white cloudiness retreated toward his center with agonizing slowness. One gill-frond lifted slightly, fell back. Then another.
It took so long she lost track of time, watching each microscopic improvement. The water in the bowl warmed degree by degree, and with each increase, a little more of Frederick returned. The opacity faded from white to gray to merely clouded. His eye-spots, which had been invisible beneath the frozen surface, began to show through.
When he finally moved, truly moved, not just twitched, rising just slightly from the bottom of the bowl, she let out a sob of relief. Frederick was alive. Barely, weakly, but alive.
A bubble had formed, no bigger than a pearl and trembling with the effort it took to maintain. He rose another inch, those dark eye-spots focusing on her face with what seemed like tremendous effort.
"You ridiculous, loyal thing," she said softly, one finger gently touching the water's surface. "This place is killing you and you still came."
Frederick's response was to strengthen his bubble slightly, though she could see it cost him. He pressed against her finger, the closest thing to comfort he could offer.
Rocking back on her heels, she caught sight of her reflection in the water and frowned.
The collar glittered, the light from the fire playing on its polished surface. Her hands rose to touch it, the metal seamless except for where the latch lay flush against her throat. No keyhole, no obvious mechanism.
"I need to get this off," she said to Frederick, who watched from his bowl with what she imagined was concern. She tried prying at it with her fingernails but the metal might as well have been part of her skin. The collar remained perfectly fitted to her throat, the ribbon still threaded through it, bells silent only when she was perfectly still.
When frustration rose, the collar responded immediately, that horrible draining sensation that left her gasping. Even thinking about removing it triggered the response, as if it could sense intent as well as emotion.
"He's going to come back," she whispered, the truth of it settling over her. "Tonight, tomorrow, I don't know when. And this thing will keep me from fighting him."
