Far enough from prying ears, I whisper, “I thought I was the only one who lost something when Taynia changed. But nothing could be further from the truth.”
Lumi’s moonstone warms at my throat.
“These younglings barely remember warmth. No spring rains, no berry picking in the summer sun, no lazy afternoons in mossy groves. Just frost and hunger.”
Valkie has been mourning.
“No, Lumi. I’ve been hiding.”
Then Valkie will stop hiding when the time is right.
“What if the time is now? What if I can actually do something?” I bite my lip. “I don’t know if one play can melt a frozen heart, but it’s more than I’ve tried in three years of shrinking away.”
Then it is worth trying.
I nod…and catch Daria watching across the lehtok beds. Brilliant. We can add talking to myself to today’s display of crazy.
Thinking about my father’s death and Taynia’s betrayal still threatens to drag me under, but I’ve stewed in the bitterness too long. No matter how crazy this plan is, it’s time I stepped up. This reign of cruelty has to end, and I’m the only one who can change things from the top. Somehow, I have to get Taynia to see me as more than a sad reminder of my father, to rescind her order to get rid of me, and to start respecting and listening to me instead. I’ve been hiding for too long.
As the Talvie my father raised, as the future queen of The Hinterlands, and maybe most importantly, as the person Lark thinks I am…I have a lot to live up to.
The town square glows like a snow globe come to life.
Lanterns hang from crooked posts and icicle-strung eaves, casting amber halos over snowy cobblestones and frosty awnings. Some lamps are dented tin, others old glass jars painted with patterns, and some are simple paper bags enchanted with glow charms. A mismatched collection to be sure, but the warmth they give off is golden and inviting.
Strands of silver-threaded ribbon flutter from shop signs, twinkling like starlight.
“They look like your hair, Val,” Helkki remarks.
I can’t stop staring.
Back in the capital, full moon revel decorations were always elaborate and expensive—carved crystal moons, enchanted fountains of light, full orchestras with gilded instruments.
This…this is magic spun from scraps.
Between handmade paper moons and garlands of dried berries, children laugh as they scatter powdered sugar over sticky buns. Music is everywhere, played on worn kanteles and tarnished flutes. All the imperfections are perfectly enchanting.
Aili tugs at my sleeve. “Can I have a pulla bun?”
The sweet cardamom scent wafting from the baker’s stall makes me miss Lark. “Let’s get enough for everyone,” I say.
“But I wanted one just for me,” she huffs.
Beside me, Katja snorts. “That tracks.”
“You’ll get your own,” I promise Aili.
Hen, the baker, takes our order and slides a warm paper bundle across the counter, smiling at Aili pressed to my side, Eevi snug in the sling, and the rest orbiting close. “You all talked yourïtiinto treats, huh?” they ask warmly.
I blink, caught off guard at being called their mother. My mouth opens to correct Hen, but the words tangle somewhere between my heart and my throat, and the next customer starts ordering before I find my voice.
The ache in my chest is a shock.Shining Deep, I want that.
I want it almost as much as I want Lark to keep the kids. Maybe even as much as I wish I could keephim. I follow in a daze, stunned by the force of this wanting that has struck me out of nowhere.
Sweetbreads in hand, the twins slip into the crowd with glittering eyes, while Helkki has found face paint somewhere and now sports a crescent moon on one cheek and a glitter-coated creature on the other. Eevi waves from the sling against my chest, grabbing for the sky with a giggle every time we pass a lantern.
Around me, laughter lifts into the air like sparks. People call out to their friends as they spot them, and the music spins us all into dance. I breathe deep of the heady spices and sweet treats,my feet beginning to move in familiar patterns. Only a couple of huntsmen linger around the edges of the crowd, so I keep a loose eye on the kids while we dance, snack some more, and let the full moon tell stories with us wrapped into its tales.
