My head knows this is not the time, but my heart, oh my heart, how it disagrees. And my body…my body knows what she is the most.
She is back, called to my mountain kingdom where all is under my protection. And now, that includes her. I realize whatever she faced during her absence, it has left her even more fragile than before. And yet, beneath the fragility, I sense that same quiet strength that drew me to her the first time I saw her.
She is the first snowflake that falls. Beautiful. Unique. And just like every piece of this world, down to a single snowflake, she is here for a purpose. And I cannot help but feel thatpurpose is tied to me in ways I don’t yet understand. She has come back to these mountains. To my home.
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly, centering myself. I cannot act on this impulse. Not now. And though I don’t yet know why, I do know one thing with absolute certainty—I will not let her walk this path alone.
No one will harm her again. No one will take her from me. Not now. Not ever. I swear it to the river, the wind, and the mountain itself. I swear it to my Sruhnar, my Winter Star.
Chapter Ten
Dahlia
Ihad every intention of waking early to meet with Sita. But my body, finally allowed to relax in a safe space, betrays me.
When I roll over, stretching the knots from my neck, my room is flooded with the warm amber glow of the sun. Dust motes swirl in the golden light, defying gravity as they dance through the air.
I follow the path of one as it loops and whirls in beautiful chaos—so at odds with my rigid world of science and research. How I long to be like that dust mote, free from the laws of physics, from the constraints that bind me to reality—dancing to my own tune.
The tiny speck drifts along the sunbeam, pulling my gaze toward my travel clock. The amber glow shifts from mesmerizing to alarming as realization sets in. I slept the entire day away.
A wave of frustration crashes through me. My timeline is already razor-thin, and I’ve just lost precious hours. Eachpassing day feels like grains of sand slipping through my fingers—each one bringing me closer to the inevitable.
“Damn it, Dahlia,” I curse myself out loud and throw back the heavy quilt, shivering as the cool mountain air seeps into my sleep-warmed skin. I jerk on another layer, grab my jacket, and hastily lace up my boots before hurrying out the door.
I rush to the lounge to look for Sita and apologize for my lateness, but Tenzig directs me to the outdoor fire pit. I step onto the stone pathway, my breath curling in the crisp evening air as I head in search of my friend.
A new group of travelers has gathered around the fire, likely the last of the season before winter locks the mountains in ice and snow. They huddle close to the fire’s flickering warmth, steaming cups of chai cradled in their hands, soaking in the final days of tolerable weather.
Sita moves among them, effortless and friendly, refilling cups and exchanging easy conversation.
I curse my timing. The fire pit isn’t the place for private conversations, but I’ve already wasted an entire day, and every lost hour stretches like an eternity—each one stealing precious daylight, each one bringing the snowline lower down the mountain.
Anxiety simmers beneath my skin as I hover at the edge of the firelight, waiting for a chance to speak with her. As if sensing my impatience, Sita finishes serving and takes a seat, beckoning to me to join her.
Sitting down, I say, “Sita, I’m so sorry I slept the day away.”
Her brown eyes glimmer with quiet understanding as she waves off my apology. Lips curving into a soft smile, she says, “Please, do not apologize for the rest you so clearly needed. I didn’t think to ever see you again,didi. I was thrilled when my father said you had returned but also worried that you were back so soon.”
The word didi, or sister, eases some of the tension in mychest. Sita has been more than a guide. She’s been my friend, supporting me through the relentless cycle of hope and disappointment—each lead turning into a dead end, every inch of the rugged mountain terrain yielding nothing—she has been there, helping me weather it all.
Still, I can’t shake my urgency. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to be back ever, much less in a few days. But here I am. Wemustfind the plant, Sita.”
Her smile dims slightly as she locks her warm brown eyes on mine, sympathy bleeding through her gaze. She knows—she’s always known. I had confided in her why I was so desperate, and she had matched it with relentless determination, scouring the mountains by my side, chasing every lead, no matter how thin. She had been just as crushed as I was when I left for home empty-handed.
Sita is steady, unwavering—a force as certain as the sunrise over these peaks. But I hadn’t missed the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes when she hugged me goodbye. She had believed it was for the last time.
I glance toward the river and the darkened stretch of forest beyond. “I feel like we need to search there,” I point. “Across the river.”
The change in her expression is instant. Her hand lifts automatically, catching mine and lowering it. Then, with a swift flick of her fingers, she traces a small symbol in the air. A gesture I don’t recognize.
“Dahlia,” she says carefully. “I know how badly you need this plant. But we must not cross the sacred waters of Migaia.”
I frown. “Why not? We’ve searched everywhere else.”
She shakes her head slowly, her fingers curling in her lap. “It is not…safe.”
Sita has guided me through treacherous terrain before, fearlessly scaling ridges and navigating dense brush without hesitation. She is not someone who scares easily.
