Fuck this new pain.
I have a path. I know what I have to do. I just need to do it.
Leaning up against the other side of the door while Nara settles back to the ground, I close my eyes and listen.
Listen to Thyra’s distant footfalls, heavy and burdened.
I wait for her to sing to the silver threads again, but she doesn’t.
I suppose she doesn’t need to. They will stay where they are, floating like gauze, a sheet of silver ready for when she steps into them again. If anyone tries to touch them or steal them in the meantime, that fae will meet a quick end.
Thyra paces down the hallway, the slap of her feet against the stone floor bringing her past the baskets of clothing and linen and to the other side of the door beside which I’m standing.
She didn’t stop for clothes.
She’s still naked.
I need her to push open the door. I want her to challenge me. Test me. To choose to step into the icy air simply because that’s where I am. But it’s a daydream to believe she ever would or could willingly stand at my side.
She should stay inside, where it’s warm.
She should keep away from me and my stony heart.
She’s quiet and still for the longest moment. A moment that threatens my sanity.
Then she backs away.
I close my eyes, my shoulders slumping as her footfallscarry her to the baskets, where she rummages. The swish of material indicates she’s pulling multiple items of clothing onto her body. Probably also the fur boots. After which, she begins exploring, her muted footfalls carrying her from one room to the next.
She stops longest at the door into the empty room—the one for which I didn’t give an explanation.
If she’d asked about it…
Well, she didn’t.
Soon enough, the sun begins sinking toward the horizon and the staff reappears along the path, completely silent. No conversation between them. They know I can hear everything they say.
They pull up sharply when they see me standing outside the door.
I point to the ground at their feet, and they lower their baskets, the wicker crunching in the new snow.
Exchanging glances with each other, they hurry away.
It’s just as well they didn’t linger.
The temperature is plummeting faster than normal, signaling an oncoming snowstorm that could be worse than the one Thyra and I rode through last night.
The staff will need to seek shelter. Every Frost Fae will.
Scooping up both baskets, I ascertain that one contains food and another has more clothing—more female clothing, these items silken and velvety. The first basket contained practical garments. This one does not. I can only imagine the arguments between the staff about Thyra’s role here.
I tell myself it’s a good sign they’re guessing. It means other Frost Fae will be kept guessing too.
From the basket of food, I remove a roll of bread and a flask of water for myself.
Thyra’s currently in the bathing room, the soft splash ofwater lapping at the sides of the bath indicating she’s immersed herself into it.
It’s a good time to slip both baskets inside.
