But by singing to her to keep her alive, I’ve given her a part of myself. Not a part of my cold heart—of that, there’s nothing worth giving. I’ve given her my Voice in a way I’ve never given it to anyone else.
Chaining her, restricting her, silencing her would be like chaining and silencing myself, an existence I’ve come to accept for myself, but I can’t impose it on her.
Ultimately, she needs the armor off. She can’t walk around in it. And I, in a moment of impulse I should have resisted, insisted it was under her control.
She leans in closer to me, pushing her palm to my chest, finding the rip in my tunic.
Why does it feel like her hand belongs on my heart?
“I’m prepared for whatever consequences come my way,” she says, looking me in the eye. “I’m ready for them.”
I swallow the dread I shouldn’t be able to feel. “Then I’ll teach you. But I have rules.”
“Of course,” she says, her eyebrows gently raised, the hint of a smile playing around her mouth. “I’ll consider them impositions.”
Why does she try to lighten my heart?
More confusingly…how does she come close to succeeding?
“Singing stays within these walls,” I say, and then I point to the door. “Never sing outside that door.”
She nods, her smile fading, her expression serious again. “Anything else?”
Anything else?
Dear Goddess of Snow and Stone, I want her to take off this dress right now.
Before I can break my own rules and act on my impulses, distant sounds pull my focus away from her.
I stiffen, my attention snapping to my right.
“Someone’s approaching.” I relax as I recognize Nara’s padding feet, plus the footfalls of three fae. “It’s Nara. She’s brought the staff.”
Just as well. My thoughts may be heated, but my stomach is as empty as Thyra’s must be.
As I identify the soft swishing of wicker against legs, I add, “They’re carrying baskets, but they’ll leave everything at the door.”
Thyra’s pursed lips tell me she’s craning to hear their approach and I’m impressed when she says, “Three fae.”
It could be a lucky guess on her part, but it’s pleasing that she got it right. “Correct.”
I wait a minute, listening for the fae to retreat, although Nara stays.
I’m finally forced to step away from Thyra, propelled by her suddenly growling stomach.
Swinging open the mended door, I reveal the three large baskets now resting on the doorstep. One from which wafts delicious smells. Two others from which material spills.
When I flip the covers open, it becomes clear those two baskets are full of clean clothing—one basket for Thyra and one for me—as well as fresh linens.
I catch a glimpse of the retreating fae before I whistle softly to Nara as she settles down beside the door. She gives me a contented snarl that tells me she’s eaten already.
Cold air rushes through the opening, but Thyra moves to my side, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Will Nara come inside?”
“It’s too warm for her in here. Don’t worry; her stomach is full and she enjoys the snow.”
I pull all three baskets into the room and close the door. Checking the contents, I place the baskets of clothing and linen at the door to the hallway before I carry the third to the table.
