Page 148 of Frost and Death
Confused we’ve done something, I look at Jerrick to see his demeanor shift. He runs a hand through his hair, offering her a wave in greeting.
My brow remains raised while the woman maneuvers around the table to approach us.
Her stomps creak on each wooden plank of her shop. When she comes face-to-face with us, I lean away from her as she rises to her tiptoes to swat Jerrick on the side of his head, leaving my jaw on the floor.
Sheswattedthe King of Palaena.
Jerrick winces as she crosses her arms and shakes her head.
Looking between them, I try to answer questions no one seems to be addressing. Who is this woman? Why isn’t Jerrick doing anything?
I grip the sides of my dress, ready to lift my skirts to flee if this woman tries to swat me. Sweet Makers, I don’t think I would risk coming to the best seamstress if getting a swat was her form of payment.
“Monthswithout paying a visit to your grandmother andthenyou show up without warning and with a wife no one has seemed to have met?” she scolds, her tight voice heightening at the mention of wife.
The anger laced toward Jerrick delays me briefly while he rubs the spot she smacked.
Realization dawns, and my heart constricts at the thought of having a grandmother as part of this new family.
“You’re—You’re his grandmother?” I ask, my own grandparents flooding through my mind.
My ancestors all died when Runa and I were very young, only flitting memories of them watching us when Mother and Father traveled.
Her hooded brown eyes give me a once-over, scanning slowly down my frame. They lingered at the dirty hem of my dress, sending self-consciousness to the forefront, and I lift my skirts above her shop’s floor. With one brow raised, she judges Jerrick’s bride.
I shift uncomfortably.
“Yes, and I suppose that makes you my new granddaughter,” she declares, drawing my attention.
Jerrick clears his throat. “Gran, this is Queen Tove of Axidoria and Palaena.”
The woman humphs in acknowledgment.
“This is Frida Johannesen, my mother’s mother,” he says to me.
Paintings of Jerrick’s mother are few and far between in the castle, but her features match that of her mother’s, answering my question from when I first laid eyes on the seamstress.
Unsure of whether to speak first or not, I wait for her to meet my gaze. When she does, I rush to break the silence.
“A pleasure to meet you, Frida.”
She tosses her hand as she huffs again, turning for the rear of her shop as if she isn’t meeting a monarch.
I flick my eyes to Jerrick while her back is turned to us, only to see him gesture for us to follow her. Following his lead, I allow his tall frame to shield me, knowing he has had years of dealing with this woman.
Her steps on the wooden slats of her shop creak quietly, but mine and Jerrick’s are louder, making this visit more uncomfortable than I would have liked.
I keep a firm hold of my dress, preventing it from touching her displays of fabrics and gowns.
“Short or long?” Frida asks Jerrick as we meet her opposite of her workstation.
Jerrick braces his hands against the table, and I follow, careful to avoid her bubble.
A sigh escapes Jerrick as he responds, “Short.”
I stand and observe their interaction, unsure of what to do. My thoughts swirl as I try to piece together the meaning behind the words as Frida inclines her head, rotating to her shelves of boxed orders, grabbing one from the very bottom and putting it between the three of us.
She goes to open the box, but Jerrick shoots out a hand to stop her.
