Page 13 of The Yuletide Fairy's Curse
“Come,” whispered Kolfrosta.
Dalla went to her. Underneath Kolfrosta’s crouched form was a baby rabbit. Kolfrosta lifted one finger to its nose, let it sniff, and then gently swiped her nail over the top of its head. It thumped its leg at her, pleased.
Dalla watched on in awe. Her breath came out in white puffs, but she felt warm all over. She crouched down and reached to the rabbit too, thinking to let it sniff her hand.
The rabbit dashed away.
The level of rejection that washed over Dalla was silly, and yet she couldn’t keep it at bay. She looked up to find Kolfrosta very close, crouched so their foreheads nearly touched.
Dalla gathered her courage. “Are we going to pretend like I didn’t kiss you?”
“A moment of weakness,” said Kolfrosta unconvincingly. “It won’t happen again.”
“Better not get too attached,” Dalla said bitterly. “It will be hard for you when the time comes to kill me.”
Kolfrosta pursed her lips. “I think it’s time for another memory.”
CHAPTER 9
Once more, Dalla stood at the base of the extravagant tree in the main hall. She caressed the baubles with her fingertips, quick images flashing in her mind: a lavish dance, a child’s laughter, a vagrant cowering between two buildings in the snow. Perhaps it was that her own memory was contained in one of these now, but she felt the pull of them even stronger.
“Which one?” she asked.
Kolfrosta kept a farther distance from Dalla than she had in the garden. In fact, her demeanor altogether seemed more aloof. Dalla suspected this was due to her time being up soon, despite Kolfrosta’s admitted soft spot for her. How it must’ve weighed on Kolfrosta’s conscience.
So much had happened that Dalla barely had time to process her feelings. If she’d been told some fairy was kidnapping people and murdering them, she would be objected to it morally. But what if those people were terrible sovereigns who lifted themselves up on the backs of others? What if they allowed people to die as punishment for not bowing low enough?
What if they let people die as punishment for being born poor?
Dalla shook out her hands. She could reconcile those two things in her head: that the people who raised her were awful, and that she’d also had tender moments with them. There had been many instances when she understood the level of their cruelty—or indifference—toward herself. So of course people they weren’t related to, people who lacked esteem, would be subject to worse.
And Dalla did not come here to avenge anyone. She came here to protect her brothers. And, if she was being entirely honest with herself, to satiate her curiosity about the fairy who had haunted her dreams for a decade.
“This one,” Kolfrosta said. She pointed to the bauble, and Dalla picked it from the tree.
Dalla wasted no time: she threw it to the ground, and it shattered.
The vision overwhelmed her senses. The colors were off, sparkling in odd places, unlike the ordinary appearance of her mother’s memory.
The vision showed a farmer, crying and holding their spouse in a field. It was hot—the height of summer, likely some time before the solstice. The field was empty and dead.
Then the vision was over.
Dalla chewed over the simplicity of this memory. She did not know the farmer, nor did she know to whom the memory belonged.
“This is from earlier this year,” said Kolfrosta. “Do you still think Puck listened to you about supporting your kingdom’s staple crops?”
Dalla bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “This is your memory,” she said.
“It is,” said Kolfrosta. “Never forget that Puck only looks out for himself.”
He hadn’t listened to Dalla; of course, he hadn’t. It brought him no benefit to follow her orders, and he safely guessed she would not investigate his work. He likely thought Dalla was the odd one out—that he would do the same as always and wait for her younger brother to pick up the slack once she was gone.
Dalla ran a thumb over the pommel of her dagger.
“I have a favor to ask,” she said, keeping the anger out of her voice.
“A favor?” Kolfrosta repeated, genuinely surprised.
