Page 18 of The Yuletide Fairy's Curse
“You promised to prove yourself to me,” Kolfrosta countered.
Dalla stepped forward. After this, she would be someone else, a pale echo of her old self.
She lowered her head as though waiting for an axe to come down.
CHAPTER 12
Kolfrosta’s fingers—cool, not warm—closed over Dalla’s forehead and tangled in her hair.
Dalla felt a straining at her temples, so much stronger than the unspooling of the first memory. That time, something of hers was being shared; this time, something was being taken.
Then the room began to shake. Dalla braced herself, steadying her legs, but Kolfrosta let go and she fell forward.
“He’s here,” Kolfrosta intoned.
Dalla scrambled back to her feet. She ran her hands over her body—all there. Her mind—all there, or she couldn’t tell what had been taken, if anything.
“What should I do?” Dalla asked.
“I don’t know.” Kolfrosta’s voice shook. “I will die. I’ll sleep in this bed for an agonizingly slow restoration. I don’t know how you fit into it. We don’t have time for…”
“I’ll go,” Dalla said. “I’ll go, and I won’t make another mistake. Please.”
“I don’t care what you do,” Kolfrosta said coldly. Even through her fear, she still felt the betrayal.
Guilt swelled in Dalla’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Kolfrosta. I didn’t understand.”
“If you go, do it before he gets here,” she said.
Dalla sprinted to the door. The footsteps of the servants were audible as they scuffled around, ready to lead her away. Dalla wondered if they felt protective of their mistress. Did they care about anything at all?
The palace walls shook once more. Dalla clung to the doorframe.
Back in the bedroom, Kolfrosta whimpered.
Dalla closed her eyes. She could leave, yes. But Kolfrosta was scared now, and about to go through something traumatic. And maybe Fonn was not the person Dalla thought she was, but she had taught Dalla to show kindness in response to fear.
Dalla turned and marched back into the bedroom.
Kolfrosta looked up at her, tears in her eyes. “I don’t like this part,” she said. “It hurts.”
Dalla encompassed Kolfrosta’s hands in her own. “I will stay here with you.”
“He’s dangerous,” Kolfrosta warned.
“So am I,” said Dalla, feeling the weight of the dagger at her hip.
Kolfrosta squeezed her hands. Dalla wasn’t forgiven, she could tell. But the gesture meant something, and that had to be enough for now.
Hand in hand, they walked out of the room. They were not guided by the servants, but somehow Dalla understood, now, where to go, like she held dominion over this place as strongly as Kolfrosta. They stopped at the bottom of the stairs before the door that led to the courtyard where winter life grew.
And Dalla had a terrible idea.
The double doors to the main hall sprang open. Gusts of snow swelled around Puck’s familiar silhouette. The mere sightof him filled Dalla with anger. He had lied to her, and he was here to hurt someone she cared about.
She would not let him.
Snow dusted his boots as he stepped forward. He was tall and dressed in green, and he smelled of dandelions. His radiant red hair fell to his shoulders, and his brow was furrowed, stern, set on his task.
