Ever practical, Mikael starts picking up the scattered books, and I join him in tidying. Wordlessly, he shoves books into my hands and stacks the rest. We work together to scoop up the spilled pillow stuffing and set the table upright. When Aili emerges from the cupboard with Eevi, I take the toddler while Mika helps Aili pick up strewn drawings and colored pens.
None of us speak aside from Katja’s whispered coaxing for Joha tobreathe, but there’s no awkwardness. There’s a natural rhythm in the flow of movement. Like they’ve all done this a hundred times before, each of them falling into place, knowing their roles. And me…in the middle.
As I carry the lampshade over for Mikael to reattach, I ask the question weighing on my mind. “What will he do?”
The young man’s brow furrows.
“Lark,” I clarify. Lark, who had the presence of mind to take control of the situation in an instant. Who didn’t yell, didn’t panic, just acted. Who protected the most vulnerable one of them, without a thought for himself. “What will he do with Helkki?”
“Do?” Mikael’s frown deepens.
I nod. I know what would happen at the palace to anyone who let a gremlin in, but I can’t help feeling worried for Helkki despite her role in this mess. “I know she did a bad thing, but he won’t hurt her, will he?”
Mikael rears back at the suggestion. A glance at the others shows me shocked faces all around.
“That’s not Lark,” Mika assures me.
Katja pats my arm. “He would never harm anyone. Helkki had to go with him because she’s the one who knows where she found the gremlin. They have to get it close enough to its home that it won’t just come back here looking for warmth and food. Hellion doesn’t think things through, but Lark will talk to her. The guilt over realizing what could have happened to Joha will be plenty of punishment.”
Disbelief wars with relief inside of me. Because of course Lark would know just how to handle it. Without screaming. Without harm. Without making the child feel any worse than she already will.
The warmth I’d been looking forward to when we first stepped inside is different now.
Not the heat of the fire or the comfort of safety from the huntsmen—though all of those are true. But the warmth of a home that works together.
It’s nearly enough to push my earlier panic from my mind.
Nearly.
That night, long after the chaos has settled, I lie awake beside Lark, listening to his steady breaths and the wind howling outside the window. Snow will have piled into drifts by morning.
In the middle of the bed, Hugo snuffles softly amidst the covers. Lumi’s moonstone rests with solid warmth against my clavicle.
I haven’t said a word since we got into bed. I can’t stop thinking. My thoughts bounce between the gremlin and my fears about Beron, settling on the latter.
Is he close to finding me?
What led him to Ylvara?
Why did he approach Lark?
My fingers tangle in the blanket while I will the tension to leave my body. It won't budge. Not after that run-in. Not after the gremlin and the fear for Johannes.
Lark shifts beside me, as if waiting for the question trying to claw its way out of me.
“Who was that man you spoke to?” I finally ask, as if I don’t know exactly who Beron is. My heart races and fears spiral as the words tumble out.
Lark knows who I am. Lark turned me in. Lark is working with Beron.
All impossible otherwise I’d already be caught in a gilded cage. Or missing my head.
Lark is quiet. Then, gently, he admits, “The Head Huntsman.”
My heart stutters. “Oh.”
I wasn’t sure he’d tell me the truth. I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of—what Beron might do if he finds me, or what Lark might do if he learns who I am.
“You seemed…shaken by him.” Lark’s voice is quiet. Careful.
