"She hates me," I say finally. "She's made that abundantly clear."
"She's terrified of you," Thera corrects, resuming her chopping with renewed vigor. "There's a difference. Fear can change into other things, given time and patience."
"I don't have time for patience."
"Then you'd better develop some, because that girl isn't going anywhere. And neither are you, if that pinched look on your face is any indication." She gestures toward my chest with her knife. "The bond's getting stronger, isn't it?"
I don't answer, but the way my hand involuntarily moves to rub at the ache gives me away.
"If you and the girl are attached by fate, maybe you should try getting to know her instead of treating her like a prisoner," Thera continues with the relentless logic of someone who's never met a problem she couldn't solve through pure common sense. "You might discover she's more than just a pretty thief with a smart mouth."
"I don't want to get to know her."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. The truth is that I've been thinking about Heidi since the moment she walked into Vestige—the way she moved through the crowd like dangerous water, the flash of defiance in her eyes when I caught her, the soft sound she made when I carried her out of the temple. Even now, knowing she's somewhere in my house, breathing my air and wearing clothes I provided, sends something possessive and hungry coiling through my chest.
But wanting her and trusting her are entirely different things. And Irida's safety comes before any desires I might havedeveloped for storm-colored eyes and a mouth that promises either salvation or destruction.
Thera smirks like she can read every thought in my head. "Well, Irida does. Want to get to know her, that is. She's been asking about her new friend all afternoon."
My blood turns to ice. "Her what?"
Instead of answering, Thera points toward the windows that overlook the back garden. Through the glass, I can see the terrace where Rhegan and Ilyra stand watch, and beyond that...
Beyond that, my daughter is laughing with pure, uninhibited joy as she and Heidi roll a massive snowball across the dark sand. Even from this distance, I can see the bright flush of excitement in Irida's cheeks, the way her wings flutter with happiness as she directs their construction project with the imperious authority of a six-year-old architect.
And Heidi—Heidi is smiling. Not the sharp, defensive expression I've seen her wear like armor, but something soft and genuine as she follows Irida's increasingly elaborate instructions. She's wearing the practical clothes we provided, dark trousers and boots that let her move freely, and her hair has escaped whatever restraint she'd used earlier to fall in dark waves around her shoulders.
She looks... young. Happy. Like someone who might actually enjoy building snow creatures with an enthusiastic child instead of plotting escape routes and nursing grudges.
"This is unacceptable," I repeat, but the words lack conviction.
"Why? Because your daughter is having fun? Because she's finally found someone who doesn't treat her like spun glass or talk to her in that careful way adults use when they're afraid of saying the wrong thing?" Thera's voice carries thirty years of exasperation. "Or because you're discovering that your thief isn't quite the monster you wanted her to be?"
I don't answer because I can't. Because watching Heidi laugh at something Irida says, seeing the careful way she helps my daughter lift heavy snow without making it obvious she's doing most of the work, is doing things to the cold, controlled parts of my heart that I'm not prepared to examine.
The pinching in my chest eases for the first time all day.
"You need to go out there," Thera says quietly. "Irida will want to show you what they've built. And you need to see how they are together."
"I need to remind that girl exactly what her situation is."
"What you need is to stop being so damn stubborn that you miss what's right in front of you."
Before I can argue further, movement in the garden catches my attention. Irida has spotted me through the window, her face lighting up like sunrise as she waves enthusiastically. Even through the glass, I can see her mouth forming words—probably calling for me to come outside and witness whatever masterpiece she's created.
Heidi follows Irida's gaze, her expression shifting from relaxed enjoyment to something guarded and wary when she sees me watching. But she doesn't pull away from my daughter, doesn't make excuses to retreat inside. She simply straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin in a gesture of defiance that's becoming familiar.
"She's not running," I observe, more to myself than to Thera.
"Would you? If you were finally having a moment of peace after being locked in a room all day?"
Point taken. And Irida is practically vibrating with excitement, her small hands pressed against the window as she gestures for me to join them. The sight of her joy does what it always does—melts every defense I possess and reminds me that I would walk through fire if it meant keeping that smile on her face.
"If anything happens to my daughter..."
"Nothing will happen to your daughter," Thera says with complete certainty. "That girl has been watching Irida like she's made of precious stones. She's protective of her."
Another surprise in a day full of them. I study Heidi through the window, noting the way she positions herself between Irida and the deeper shadows of the garden, how her eyes regularly scan their surroundings despite her apparent focus on their project. Professional wariness, or something more personal?
