Page 202 of The Sun He Buried

“No.”

Her voice is rough against the pillow.

I wait.

The eye opens a second time. Then the other.

She looks at the furs. The dark wall. Snowpetal. Me.

Confusion clears enough to make room for alarm.

“Where am I?”

“An ambitious question before sunrise.”

She pushes herself upright.

This takes two attempts.

Snowpetal rides the movement to her lap and sits there, purring.

Solveih presses both hands against her temples. “This is your room.”

“Your powers recover.”

She looks down at herself.

Blue dress. Stockings. Her boots are off. The hem is dry now, though salt from the snow has left a pale line across it. Every fastening remains where it was.

Her attention moves to the chair.

My coat hangs over the back. Her boots sit beneath it.

Fragments return through the bond. Snow above her. Black wool beneath her cheek. My arm under her knees.

Warm.

Safe.

The feelings get through before I can close against them.

My hand tightens behind my back.

Solveih looks at me again. “You carried me.”

“You had abandoned walking.”

“I remember the snow.”

“It was difficult to miss.”

“You laid down beside me.”

I give her nothing.

She rubs one eye with the heel of her hand. “I told you your home was beautiful.”

The exact words return with her voice.