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Even then, a bit of anger boiled inside her, beating with each thump of her heart, that Morozko could’ve reminded her village why the ceremony needed to be carried out. If the village had known, they would’ve sacrificed a thousand horses.
“Eirah, we don’t even have a thousand horses anymore,” she muttered. “All right, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but we would’ve sacrificed one on the precise day.” Because there was no sacrifice, the changelings had broken through their seal, her father had been wounded, her cottage destroyed, Petre was dead, and now Saren and the village had to suffer.
And yet, she blamed her village more than Morozko.
“I need what’s left of my village to be saved,” Eirah whispered. She still had a human heart even though she was immortal, while Morozko’s heart was… It wasn’t as cold as she’d first thought… but it wasn’t warm and toasty, either.
Perhaps he’s afraid…
“Bah!” Eirah trudged faster through the snow, past the fallen and broken cottages. She didn’t want that side of her to come crawling back out, the side that mayunderstand. After growing up with an evil demon of a mother who hadn’t cared about him, who’d killed someone he cared about in front of him when he’d only been a boy...
“The bastard could’ve still been honest, Eirah,” she hissed. He could have admitted he’d first brought her to his castle because he believed she was plotting to murder him. Which she had been, hadtried. But that was after he’d chosen her.
Adair swooped down, lingering on Saren’s roof, seeming to want to watch over them for the remainder of the night. She gave him a smile before pausing on Saren’s porch, her hand gripping the door handle. Morozko didn’t always admit everything in truth aloud—his words were covered in falseness at times. To protect himself, just as he would the land… He’d admitted that those were the two things he cared about.
As she opened the door she’d fixed earlier, something nagged her about his words. She needed to think harder—she wished she had a music box to work on while doing so.
When she stepped inside, her father peeled open his eyes. “Daughter?”
“It’s me.” Eirah tossed a log into the fire, then knelt in front of him, taking his hand in hers. He still appeared weak on the settee, but no blood bloomed on the bandages covering his wounds.
His broken glasses rested on the table, and his breaths came out steady.
“Has the king changed his mind about you?” Her father asked, hope filling his tired voice.
“No, Papa.” Eirah’s lips tugged up a little at the edges. “He has me as a pampered pet for now. But at least you and I have more time together.” She would tell him about how the village had been partly at fault once his strength was up.
“This was like a gift, you coming here,” he yawned when he spoke. “Even on this heinous night.”
Eirah didn’t want to give him hope that there was a possibility Morozko might allow her to live because she didn’t even have hope herself. What was necessary would be what she needed to do. She had always told her father everything, but she didn’t want anyone to know she held magic, that she was immortal, could shift into a bird. Her father and Saren wouldn’t look at her differently, but the village would. They would believe she seduced the king to live, to gain magic. And so what if she had? Most would for their lives.
She thought about the kiss—that beautiful, awful kiss—where she could’ve pushed away but had only wanted to pull him closer. A kiss that she’d vowed would never happen again, but after the admission of his secrets—that it was all for Frosteria… and perhaps himself—nothing had changed because she could still die. But it would always be worth it to protect those she loved.
“I’m sorry about our home, your work, Mama’s things.” Eirah’s voice came out on a choked sob as she squeezed his hand softly.
All of her things were now gone, too. But it wasn’t her beloved romance tomes hidden beneath her bed, the macabre creations she’d made, or even the music boxes she’d worked on with her father that hurt her the most to lose. It was her mother’s dresses that had been in Eirah’s wardrobe. Sometimes she would open the wardrobe to inhale the fabric of one of the dresses because, even after all these years, her mother’s light strawberry scent lingered. Now they were gone, and she would never have that part of her mother again.
“Everything is not gone. I have the ring she gave me.” He held up his hand, showing the gold wedding band he continued to wear on his finger. Then he drew a silver chain from his pocket and placed the necklace into her palm. “And this is yours now. It was the only thing I had time to take.”
Tears pricked her eyes as she held her mother’s favorite locket. “Are you sure? You don’t want to keep it?”
He shook his head, taking a breath, his eyes falling shut. “I have her memories.”
As she fastened the chain around her neck, Eirah was tempted to check on Saren, but it was best to let her friend rest for the remainder of the night. She didn’t want to wake her and have Saren remember everything that had happened, for her gaze to fall on Petre’s still body. In the morning, Eirah would go to her.
For now, she cleared spools of thread and other scattered items from the floor, then settled on the fur rug in front of the fire. She didn’t require the warmth, but it was a comfort as she cradled her mother’s locket in one hand and held her other up to the flames.
Morozko’s admission about his visions crept back into her thoughts. Before, she’d believed him to just be a bastard king who tumbled whomever he desired while wanting others to bend to his every command. All true, but there was more depth to him…
Eirah focused on the words he’d chosen to use. In his vision, he’d seen the ground cracking, changelings, and Eirah calling for him, wanting to help him. When he’d spoken the words, there had been an emotion flickering in his eyes as he’d looked at her, something that he was keeping hidden from her. There was more to that moment, more between them, that he saw in that vision. But what was it?
Eirah wouldn’t go back tonight, wouldn’t allow herself to seduce or pamper him for answers. She studied the flames, repeating the prayer that her mother used to always tell her at bedtime, then asked her if she would watch over Petre in the afterlife.
With a sigh, she lay against the fur, watching the fire crackle until her eyes fell shut. Morozko’s bright blue irises came to her. The anger in her heart had lessened to where she was starting to feel sorry for him. Anyone in the village would call her mad for feeling sorry for someone who had held so many secrets. She thought once more about the kiss he’d taken from her, the kiss she’d willingly given back to him. But he had told her the truth, while he could have continued to keep his secrets…
* * *
Eirah crackedopen her eyes and gasped, hurrying to sit up, when she discovered Morozko standing above her, studying her.
