That golden warmth in my chest flares. But it doesn’t banish the grief there. It merely changes it into something that still aches, but it’s a sweet kind of throb that brings a smile to my lips. Given the chance, would I cut that out of me? Carve the love from my chest? The memories it sustains? The laughs it holds?
Never.
Because love and loss are on the same coin—one side warmth, one side ache—but the value never changes. And to carve out the grief would be to erase the love that made the memory worth living. A thousand times over.
I straighten, turn, and look at Vale.
His heart is healing. It has to be. The tower. The bloodysorry. Daron’s hand held in his. The grave, and his cloak around me. Each one something Death was never supposed to do. What if Deathcanlove me?
My chest warms at that.
What if he already does?
Perhaps not to his full capacity yet, with the third and final string trapped inside my crown, but it might be enough to break this curse…if only it wasn’t shackled by his fear. And if I want him to lose that fear? Then I have to show him that grief and love go hand in hand—two parts of a coin that holds the value of life itself.
I look down at the snowball.Pain is a good thing. Reminds us that we’re alive.
In a sort of excited trance, I wade through the snow, closer toward the bench. I pull my arm back, aiming straight at the buttons of Vale’s pretty blue coat—or perhaps that living, beating heart underneath.
Then I throw.
The snowball cuts clean through the air and smacks his shoulder.Thud.Snow bursts on the midnight-blue velvet, sending a frantic spray of white across his dazed face.
Mother lets out a startled, joyous bark of laughter. It amplifies the brightness at my core, flooding the courtyard in reflected light from the snow crystals below.
Vale’s hand flies to the impact site, his eyes blowing wide, green irises capturing the sunlight as he looks at me in pure shock. “Whatever was that?”
“Revenge for a dozen lies.” I reach down and grab a handful of fresh snow, packing it anew, a wicked grin stretching my face. “I’ll give you five seconds to up your defense. Five…four…”
Vale glances at the snow on his shoulder. Looks at Mother, who’s still chuckling into her cloak. Then, he looks at me.
A muscle feathers in his jaw. The corners of his mouth twitch as if fighting a millennial habit of boredom. Then, a shadow of a smile—dark, dangerous, and brilliantly alive.
“You have a very poor sense of self-preservation, wife.” He bends down, his long fingers digging into the drift. “Run.”
A spike of energy.
Giggling, I turn, hitching up my skirts and bolting toward the old stables. But not without gathering more snow, twisting around, and letting another snowball fly.
This one misses by a mile. It breaks right beside Mother, making her rise with a laugh before she swats at our nonsense and turns toward the palace to flee our childish game.
“Coward!” I laugh after her.
Vale pushes himself off the bench, sad, malformed snowball in hand. “You’ll regret having started this.” He stalks through the high snow, much faster than me with his long legs, giving the snowball in his hands a final, menacing squeeze. “Revenge for the dozens of times you wouldn’t listen!”
Thwack.
His snowball clips my shoulder, spinning me around. The cold seep is biting, but the heat in my blood is louder. I’m laughing so hard my ribs ache, a sound that draws shadowed figures to the palace windows.
“Didn’t even feel it!”
I dive behind a frost-rimmed barrel, salt-slicked breath hitching in my chest. I don’t wait for him to find his next mark. I pop up, a snowy projectile in each hand, and launch them in a frantic arc before I bolt again.
One catches him in the thigh. The other, he bats away with a flick of his wrist. “Your aim is deteriorating, Elara!”
“Don’t make me dig for stones!” I yell back, scooping up more ammunition as I scramble toward the perimeter of the courtyard.
Vale halts, tilting his head. “Stones?”
