“There he is!” Astrid squeals, jumping up and down.
A vendor stands beneath a crimson awning, bundled in a heavy woolen cloak with a cap snug over his head. Snow gathers on his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too focused on the large griddle in front of him, filled with rounds of something soft and pale.
Lefse.
I know it only through books—a Norwegian treat, though I’m curious how it’s different in the fae realm. The vendor lifts one of the paper-thin breads with a practiced flick.
“Fresh lefse! Cinnamon and sugar to keep the chill at bay!” Torvik calls. He spreads butter in wide, golden swirls and sprinkles a fine dusting of sugar.
We drop our bags at a nearby table, guarded by Marigold, and soon Astrid and I are standing at the edge of his stall, the glow of his griddle a welcome reprieve from the cold.
“Three please,” I say.
Torvik offers me a folded piece of the warm bread on parchment. I accept it carefully, the heat seeping through my gloves. When I take a bite, the world fades. Buttery softness melts on my tongue while the cinnamon and sugar bloom like sunshine cutting through the clouds.
“This is amazing,” I murmur.
“Aye,” the vendor replies, turning another round of lefse on his griddle with a small flourish. “But it tastes best on nights like these—when the world’s heartbeat slows and people need little miracles to keep them warm. We haven’t had markets like this in years.”
“It has been a while,” Astrid says, taking the other two lefse from him.
“But the townsfolk got together to make it happen,” Torvik says. “If the Golden Rose is in Frostfang, then we have to show her a bit of Winter’s joy.”
My breath hitches. I hadn’t realized I would be recognized.
“You’ve given us this joy, Lady Rosalina. And we thank you forit.”
I nod my appreciation, and Astrid hands the vendor money, but the delicious treat suddenly tastes stale. As we walk back through the crowd, every smiling face seems like it could crack at any moment.
Marigold takes her food from Astrid, and I sit down numbly next to them. Astrid nudges my leg. “Is everything alright, Rosalina?”
I open my mouth to say everything is fine, but Marigold holds up her hand. “Don’t you dare sayit’s nothing, dearie. We know you too well by now.”
“Remember what we said earlier?” Astrid says. “We’re here for you.”
I swallow and nod. “These people think I’m bringing them hope, as if I’m as good as the queen returning. But I’m no leader. Every step has been a mistake. Going to the Great Chasm felt like the right choice, but it cost so many lives. I’m not my mother. I have no idea how to be.”
“No, you’re not your mother,” Marigold says, taking a big bite of lefse. “Your mother left the Vale for five hundred years, and if the stars are good, one day we’ll get her back from Sira. But you’re here now, showing up every day, trying to make it better.”
“Everything is so complicated. It all hinges on Sira, but we can’t attack her with Winter’s strength alone. But coordinating with the other realms is near impossible.” All the meetings from the last few weeks swirl in my mind. Autumn can barely protect its own borders, Spring was only just reclaimed, and Summer is underwater. “Trying to rally all the different factions from across the realms…it takes so much time. And that’s the one thing we’re running out of. With Kel’s rose wilting, Castletree being sick, the staff’s transformations… I feel so guilty being out here having fun.”
“But this is important,” Astrid says. “You may not have noticed, but I’ve seen it all day. People have been watching you. The things you’ve done, Rosalina, in the Vale, saving the citizens of Summer, defending Autumn… They know. They’re out with their families in the streets because you’ve given them hope that the Vale is changing for the good.”
“Three of the high princes have broken their curses,” Marigold says. “I never imagined I’d see the day.”
I look out at the people around us. When I marched down into the chasm, my heart had been so full of vengeance. The Deep Guard had been numbers to me on the assault against the Below, but something changed in me that day, something I haven’t had time to grapple with yet. We won’t win this war like Sira, sacrificing her soldiers blindly. It’s the people’s hearts, this hope in a better world, that we need to capture.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or are there three beautiful snow faeries on this bench?” A warm, familiar voice sounds.
I turn to see my father walking toward me through the lightly falling snow. Billy and Dom are behind him, having come to celebrate the solstice with Farron. Like us, their arms are full of boxes and bags.
“Oh, George, you charmer.” Marigold laughs, face flushing.
“How are you doing, Papa?” I stand up and he drops his bags, pulling me into a tight hug. He holds on a little longer, perhaps sensing how much I need it.
“Fine. And you, my girl?”
“Better, I think.”
