As I close the door again before the cold air can rush inside, Nara side-eyes me.
“I know what I’m doing,” I mutter.
She stares harder.
I return her stern look. “Don’t try to move me, Nara. You know it’s impossible.”
With a sigh, she rests her head on her paws.
That’s how we stay while I chew on my bread, my senses alert and my ears open, isolating multiple conversations, taking in every piece of information I can from everything I hear.
Soon enough, Thyra busies herself eating and finally, she settles down to rest. I assumed she’d choose my mother’s old room, since it’s the only heated room with a proper bed, but she curls up on the chaise in the main area instead, staying nearest to me.
She’s asleep within seconds, confirming her exhaustion.
Her deep breathing fills my ears, more powerful than the shrieking wind building around me or the distant, whispered conversations of foe.
I’m certain an assassin will come for me tonight, whether it’s one of Iker’s followers or one of Brunkil’s. Or even, though less likely, an Iron Fae. Maybe another assassin carrying a dagger like the one that killed Thyra’s father.
My lips tug upward.
Let them come. I’ll be ready.
And until they do…
I find my breathing aligning with Thyra’s, deep pulls of air filled with a peace I willnever attain.
Nara’s warning growl shatters my dreams.
My slumber was already cracking, broken by stealthy footfalls approaching from the northeastern corner of the palace.
The snowstorm rages around us, the night still heavy, and the howling wind deafening. To any other fae, that is.
Listening carefully, I manage to isolate soft crunching sounds, the heaviness of footfalls indicating a male assailant. Quiet clinking tells me he’s carrying multiple blades.
Always, the goal is to draw my blood. Enough of it that the droplets will hit the ground. But then any attacker must live long enough to invoke the Winter Strife.
This new assailant is alone. And reckless to attack during a storm like this. If I don’t finish him, the icy temperatures could.
I remain exactly where I am, feigning sleep while the approaching man pushes through the storm, reaching the wall outside this garden, where he pauses.
Visibility is so bad that I only know where he is because of my hearing. Even if he’s a highborn, he’ll have trouble seeing me until he’s right on top of me, and he’ll probably expect me to be indoors.
To get to the door, he’ll either have to vault the wall or enter through the arched opening. Neither puts him in a good position. Vaulting the wall comes with not knowing what he’ll land on. Walking directly through the entrance invites the risk I’ll be waiting right there.
I stay where I am, protecting the mended door.
I won’t let anyone get to Thyra and I sure as fuck will never allow this door to be broken again.
Pursing my lips, I utter a soft whistle, mimicking the wind.
Nara’s ears prick up. Through the snow flurry, I make out her narrowed eyes.
My whistle told her to stay back, but it looks like she might disobey me, her nose lifting into the air. Something about the attacker’s smell seems to be upsetting her.
I whistle again, more firmly, risking being heard by the approaching man.
Nara finally backs away from me, but her answering growl tells me she’s unhappy about staying out of this fight.
